


beacon

by buttered_onions



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Astral Plane, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, jk i didn't knOW, no spoilers for s6, written pre-s6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: “You brought me here,” Shiro murmurs. He forces his eyes open. The stars of the astral plane are steady, not swimming. His head’s on straight, not pounding. He can do this. “I’m alright. Send me back.”The Black Lion’s displeasure rumbles across their open space.I cannot,she says.“What?” Shiro tilts his head up towards her, upside down. His breath rattles in his chest, echoes in his ears over a low thrum, quietly persistent now that he’s aware. “What do you mean, you can’t? You’ve done it before. You’ve saved me. Put me back.”Not without a body, his Lion says.





	beacon

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to clarify that I wrote and finished this just in the nick of time before season six dropped. :') I've had this fic in the back of my head since roughly season three. Circumstances and life kept me back, but thanks to my great friend and enabler [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com), I'm honored to be able to post this just under the wire <3 Trying a few new things in here. 
> 
> Thank you so much to git for beta'ing, the hand-holding, and the [really awesome banner.](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/174903707858/beacon-a-voltron-story-summary-shiro-is-trapped) You are one of the best things that's happened to me and I am so delighted we met through this fandom!
> 
> ETA, spoiler disclaimer: This fic is slightly canon-divergent thanks to season six, but noT BY MUCH. I'm still reeling. Enjoy!

When Shiro wakes up, he wakes to silence, deafening and cold.

 _Paladin,_ a voice murmurs. Concern colors the Black Lion’s words. Shiro blinks his eyes open, focuses up. The Black Lion leans over his form, mountains and stories higher than he is. The stars of the astral plane stretch above her head, endlessly unreachable vast dots of blue, white, red broken only by the shadowed eclipse. A weight tugs at his wrists, pins down his ankles. Shiro stretches his hand, rotates his wrist, testing. There’s nothing there. Nothing holds him. He’s alone.

 _You wake,_ his Lion says _._ The stars twinkle at the edges of her wings, a stalwart silhouette.

“What’s happening?” Shiro asks. It’s hard to even get the question out. His tongue is thick, his mouth dry. An acrid smell fills his nostrils, clinical and bitter like strong peroxide. Shiro swallows.

 _Rest,_ the Black Lion urges. She is concerned, unhappy. Stars wink between Shiro’s fingers as he raises his hand up above his face, reaching out. His fingers shimmer slightly with the purple tinge of the astral plane. _You are safe._

“The others,” Shiro manages. His wrist is heavy. He lets his hand fall; it floats back down to the ground at his side, unencumbered.

 _More worried about you,_ the Black Lion says. There’s a tight band pressing against Shiro’s chest; he brushes his hand over his torso, but nothing’s there. He is fine, just exhausted. It burns. _Rest._

“You brought me here,” Shiro murmurs. He forces his eyes open. The stars are steady, not swimming. His head’s on straight, not pounding. He can do this. “I’m alright. Send me back.”

The Black Lion’s displeasure rumbles across their open space.

 _I cannot,_ she says.

“What?” Shiro tilts his head up towards her, upside down. His breath rattles in his chest, echoes in his ears over a low thrum, quietly persistent now that he’s aware. “What do you mean, you can’t? You’ve done it before. You’ve saved me. Put me back.”

 _Not without a body,_ his Lion says.

 

Shiro sleeps first, for a while.

Time passes strangely, here. Sometimes he blinks and no time has passed; sometimes he blinks and he’s lost whole pockets of space, whole avenues of moments. The Black Lion never shifts. The Black Lion remains with him, a constant presence against the endless backdrop of stars. She doesn’t talk much, standing tall and steady over Shiro as he rests between her front paws. For all her care, for all her presence, she is sometimes a statue without answers.

 _Paladin,_ she says, when he asks. An apology. No more.

When he tires of sleeping, when he tires of losing time, Shiro pushes himself to his feet and walks.

There isn’t an exit. There’s nowhere to go, no matter how far he moves or how fast or how slow - and it is slow, a strange untethered drifting. When he fought Zarkon there was gravity, however strange; here, his feet barely seem to touch the ground, despite how heavily he steps, despite how the backs of his ankles constantly ache like they’re touching something cold. Here he can move, but there is no impact. Here, nothing changes. There is nowhere to go.

Time passes strangely here. The stars never shift; space doesn’t move; the Black Lion does not leave. Shiro runs, when he has the energy, but the horizon never changes or draw near. He punches at the ground, desperate, slices into the water-reflective rock with his hand again and again and again. His frustrated, trapped yells echo across this strange place; his rage bounces back to him, unmet. Nothing is enough to let him through. No matter how hard he fights or how much he pushes there is no give to the weight that holds him, no give to the tug in his chest. Nothing works. There is nowhere to go and no way to get out.

Time passes strangely here. At last Shiro returns to the feet of the Black Lion, worn out by the constant low pulsing in the back of his head, at odds with that persistent low hum. Shiro stands by the Black Lion’s feet and listens to his own heart beat in his ears, trapped too. _Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump._

“Let me out,” Shiro pleads, for the hundredth, the millionth time. Day after day he asks. “Put me back. Please.”

Day after day his Lion’s answer is the same.

 _Paladin,_ his Lion murmurs. Shiro exhales. _Paladin._

 

 

Time passes strange, here.

 

 

It takes him ages, eons, to work up the courage to ask.

“The others,” Shiro asks, one day, a week, a few minutes later. “Do they think I’m dead?”

The Black Lion - hesitates.

 _You are not,_ she says. _But they do not know._

Shiro’s heart pounds in his ears. His mouth is dry; his stomach sinks. Bile stings at the back of his throat, gagging him. His team is out there, oblivious, maybe even in the Castle mere rooms away from Black’s hangar. Maybe they’re in the lounge, or on the bridge, so close and yet-

“But I’m right here,” he says. Desperation and confusion choke his narrow throat. The invisible band across his chest refuses to give way. “I’m here. Are they looking for me? Tell them I’m here. Tell them I’m here, _please_ , tell them I’m alright.”

 _Paladin,_ his Lion says. It’s an apology, again. Sorrow laces through the syllables. The acrid smell of iron and peroxide burns in Shiro’s nostrils. Shiro has to know.

“You could tell them,” Shiro begs. Maybe Pidge, with her deeper connection to Green after Olkarion. Maybe she’d be able to reach out, if the Black Lion talked to hers. Maybe Lance and Blue, who’ve always been close right from the beginning. Maybe Keith with Red would know. Maybe Keith with Red would listen.

Keith.

 _He grieves,_ the Black Lion says, but soft. Her words echo with guilt.

“Oh,” says Shiro, weakly. Something gives. His knees wobble and he staggers abruptly against the steady presence of the Black Lion, bracing himself with one hand against her giant metal claw. His lungs tighten, shrinking, like it’s harder to draw air. His pounding heart is an alarmed syncopation over his panicked breathing, pumping in. _Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump_. He didn’t know it was possible to hurt, here.

Keith doesn’t know he’s alive. Keith thinks - Keith might think -

Keith doesn’t know he’s here.

“If they knew,” Shiro starts, again. There has to be a way.  Keith wouldn’t give up on him.

 _They are looking,_ his Lion promises. _But the Universe is a very big place._

Shiro closes his eyes. Exhales against the burning in his chest.

“It’ll be alright,” he says, manages. It’s as much for her as for him. “Keith will find me. Keith will figure it out.”

If anyone can, it’s Keith. Keith found him once before when the odds seemed impossible. Shiro just has to hold on.

 _Keith,_ the Black Lion agrees. Her words are anguished; her nose tilts down. Shiro imagines she is looking, imagines she is worried. So is he. It’s hard not to be, with his knees shaking and his entire world both so big and so limitingly small. _Paladin?_

“I’m here,” Shiro says, numb. He closes his eyes against the burning in his heart.

_Paladin?_

 

 

Time passes strange.

 

 

When Keith flies the Black Lion for the first time, Shiro’s whole world shifts.

 _Oh,_ says Shiro’s Lion, before it happens.

The single syllable is dark with surprise. Shiro startles, caught off guard. The Black Lion has raised her head, staring off into the deep middleground of Shiro’s sanctuary and prison. Her eyes glow, ever so faintly. Shiro straightens from his lean against her claw, alert in a way he hasn’t been in - he doesn’t know.

“What is it?”

The Black Lion’s amused purr reverberates in his bones.

 _They are trying to wake me,_ she says.

Implications race through Shiro in an instant, in an hour, all at once. It doesn’t matter who it is: if any one of his team wakes his Lion, they could fly her. They could bond with her. They could get deep enough into the bond, they could _see -_

His heart clenches, hard. Any one of his team could fly the Black Lion, but despite how badly desperate he is to regain himself, Shiro has no right to ask this of her.

There’s no air here, no breeze to fill his lungs. Though the Black Lion doesn’t physically move, her presence brushes up against him. She is distantly warm.

 _I will wait for him,_ his Lion promises.

“No,” Shiro manages, aloud. He presses his hand to the Black Lion’s massive paw, lays his left palm atop her smooth metal. Despite the direct contact, for some reason Shiro cannot feel the surface beneath his hand. It’s like touching air. “This isn’t about me. This choice is yours.”

A wave of appreciation and reluctance presses upon him, gentle but broad like a sea of clouds. Shiro can barely breathe.

“Let them wake you up,” Shiro urges. He lays his full hand against the curve of the Black Lion’s claw, all he can barely reach. Despite their proximity, no sensation trails up through the fabric of his glove, save only for that invisible tug at his wrist. Shiro swallows. “It’s okay. You’ve waited long enough. I’ll be alright.”

There’s no breeze, but the Black Lion’s quiet energy fills their space: deep, solid, flooded with regret.

 _Paladin,_ his Lion says.

 

 

They wait.

 

 

When the Black Lion wakes, she wakes with a roar, and all at once Shiro can see.

The Black Lion roars above his head and everything shifts; Shiro blinks and the astral plane falls away, things settle, things are _familiar._ He’s standing in the cockpit of the Black Lion: a cockpit illuminated proudly with purples and pinks and every panel lit up and fully operational. His Lion is alive. His Lion is awake. His Lion is ready.

Keith sits before Shiro in the pilot’s chair, gripping the handles, staring point-blank in Shiro’s direction.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, stepping forwards. He can’t keep the smile out of his voice. Pride bursts in his chest, warm and fluid and burning with relief. “Keith, you did it. I knew you could.”

Keith doesn’t react. Keith’s eyes are wild and brimming with - fear, no, that’s fear, that’s despair, that’s everything Shiro never wanted to see. Keith doesn’t look at all like someone who’s won a victory. He looks like someone who’s just lost a bitter fight.

Shiro falters. Keith’s mouth moves, and then - inexplicably - he closes his eyes.

“No,” Shiro whispers, horrified. Even though Keith is talking, no sound reaches Shiro’s ears. Nothing overpowers that low hum and the pounding pulse at the base of Shiro’s skull, loud inside his head and his cage.

“What is he saying?” Shiro asks, desperately. Keith bows his head, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving - his hands grip the controls of the Black Lion as she awakens, as she uncurls, as she moves for the first time in - Shiro can’t tell. He’s stuck, so close and yet so far when Keith needs him most. “Tell me what he’s saying!”

 _He does not want this,_ the Black Lion murmurs to him. Her words are undercut with regret.

“No,” Shiro gasps, as Keith shoves the handlebars away, as he pushes out of the pilot’s chair and turns fast for the door. Shiro’s paralysis breaks; he lunges forward and lays his hand on Keith’s shoulder, reaching. “Keith, wait - ”

Keith passes straight through Shiro’s outstretched hand and out the open door of the cockpit. His face beneath the helmet is a thundercloud of rage and sorrow.

“Keith!”

With no pilot inside her, the Black Lion’s cockpit fades away almost immediately. The stars of the astral plane blur back into existence, all at once and one by one. Shiro is left standing alone again on that glassy surface, hand outstretched and fingers grasping at nothing but that invisible weight. The Black Lion stands above him, stalwart, present, restored.

Nothing, and everything, has changed.

“He couldn’t hear me,” Shiro manages, at last.

 _I have only just chosen him,_ the Black Lion says. Her tail moves, a slow flick in the space behind them. That’s new. _I will tell him, as soon as he listens._

That could be days. It could be weeks, it could be ages. Shiro’s hand shakes against the weight tugging at his wrist. He drops his palm to his Lion’s claw. Still nothing. He lets it fall.

“I couldn’t hear him,” he says, hoarse. As usual his words echo strangely in their shared existence, but for some reason this time they echo back empty, louder, more painful. Everything has changed and nothing has. “Why couldn’t I hear him?”

The Black Lion’s tail moves back and forth, an unworried pace. Her eyes settle back into calmness, the glow dimming, gone.

 _I do not know,_ she says to him. He is the only one here. _I will tell him, Paladin. Patience._

Patience. It will have to be enough. How many times has he waited? How many times has he told Keith to wait, the others to wait, how many times -

It has to be enough. Ironic that it’s all Shiro has left.

“Don’t push him,” Shiro says. The words come easily, for all that they stick against his dry tongue. “Keith’s skittish. He’ll run if he’s pushed too fast.”

 _Paladin,_ his Lion says. Her tail swishes again; she is a flicker of remorse, impatience, understanding. Shiro understands, too. This is the only way. Time is the only way. Keith will come. _Paladin?_

“I can wait,” Shiro lies.

 

 

Time passes strangely, and the waiting takes time.

 

 

When Keith flies the Black Lion again, Shiro is there.

Each time the Black Lion’s cockpit appears as she awakens, as Keith sets foot inside her or places tentative hands upon her controls. Each time, Shiro stands in the cockpit as Keith flies. Shiro stands just to the side of the chair on the right, sometimes leaning forwards to catch a glimpse of Keith’s face. It isn’t much, but it has to be enough. He just has to wait.

They just have to wait.

It’s disorienting on several levels. The cockpit remains completely mute to him. Keith makes calls, gives orders, issues commands and questions and Shiro can’t hear a single one. Black roars as she shifts in battle. The cockpit swerves under his feet, and Shiro - doesn’t feel it. The weightless drop in his stomach isn’t there. The lean of artificial gravity as Black turns isn’t there. Even the ricochet from a sudden stop-turn she and Keith pull to avoid a deadly hit doesn’t sway Shiro off his feet at all, and even though he grabs reflexively for the back of the seat - nothing affects him. Shiro’s weightless, watching, stuck.

Black translates what Keith is saying when she can, but she’s busy focusing and flying and keeping Keith and the rest of the team alive. Her vidscreens light up on the sides with faces that tug at Shiro’s heart in bitter homesickness. Pidge, her eyes moving quick as she reads what must be statistics aloud. Hunk, yelling what must be panic-disguised common sense. Lance, at first with angry irritation that fades almost immediately into the Blue Paladin’s trademark charisma and jokes. Completely to Shiro’s surprise, Allura is on Black’s screens too, her hair hidden in a pink helmet and the cockpit of the Blue Lion visible on screen behind her. They’ve switched. They’ve swapped. They’re a new team, now.

Shiro is so proud of them that it burns.

Shiro may have reached out that first time, but now he keeps his hand firmly on the back of Keith’s piloting chair. Just like Black’s claw, Shiro cannot feel the texture or weight of the familiar seat beneath his palm. No matter how hard his fingers dig they make no indent. He’s trapped on the other side of a dimensional complex, and though his friends are right on the screens and right in front of him, there is so much unreachable distance between them that he -

They are so close and sometimes Shiro cannot bear it.

The Black Lion always closes down after Keith pulls away from her. Shiro never has time to follow Keith out of the cockpit. He never has time to reach out, time to do more than turn as Keith rises - pushes through him - and leaves. Shiro’s left standing on the astral plane every single time the flights are over, hand holding not the edge of a cockpit chair, but pressed against a claw he can see, but cannot feel.

“Let me out,” Shiro begs, after Keith and company finish another rough flight, another argument, another near-escape. This time when the Black Lion sets back down in her hangar Keith bends over the controls for a moment, catching his breath. He trembles, for a moment, and if he speaks the Black Lion doesn’t translate. Shiro’s hands hover over the shoulder pads of Keith’s armor, but he cannot reach and he cannot touch. There’s nothing he can do. “I could help them, I could help Keith! He’s struggling, just let me out to talk to him - ”

The Black Lion’s displeasure rumbles across the astral plane, sharp as lightning. _No._

“I can handle it,” Shiro insists. Iron and peroxide sting at his nostrils. He inhales past it, taking his hand off the Black Lion’s claw. “I beat Zarkon, twice. This can’t be harder, I can handle this!”

 _You will crumble,_ Black insists. Shiro stops short, fingers hovering in midair. _You will crumble into stardust. I have no place to send you, I do not know where your body is. I cannot let you out._

Shiro’s breath catches in his dry throat.

 _Paladin,_ his Lion - Keith’s Lion - the Black Lion says. An apology. A question.

Shiro swallows.

“They could look,” he says. He stutters over the words, trips over the sour sandpaper taste in the back of his throat. “Keith could look. Let him in, if you won’t let me out. Please.”

 _He is not ready,_ the Black Lion repeats, quietly. _He does not want this._

Keith doesn’t want this. Some boundaries can be crossed, but Shiro made a pact long ago never to push too far past Keith’s.

No matter what, Shiro had said, when he made that promise. No matter what.

 _Paladin, do not despair,_ the Black Lion says. An apology. A plea. _Paladin, I am trying. Paladin?_

 

 

Patience hurts.

 

 

When Keith first leads the team into forming Voltron, it is an incredible experience.

As the head of Voltron, Shiro is well used to the pull of energy the Black Lion requires from him in order to bring all five Paladins together into the formidable weapon. Shiro’s firm belief in _this will work,_ in the power of his team and the formation of Voltron, never left him any room for doubts. It also meant a solid degree of certainty: that a moment before the inevitable rush of energy that followed Shiro’s call to unify, Shiro always knew what was about to happen. He always knew it would work. Shiro’s always been certain in his team.

Forming Voltron with the Black Lion’s help was one thing. Forming Voltron literally _inside the Black Lion’s energy_ is entirely another.

Shiro is there in the cockpit when the Black Lion tenses, a predator preparing to pounce. The entire energy in the cockpit shifts immediately into dangerous waiting, and lasts for mere seconds before what must be The Order, what must be _Form Voltron,_ finally leaves Keith’s silent lips.

It works. The Black Lion _smiles_ around him, a roar of proud acceptance and of battle. The cockpit edges fade away as Shiro is caught up firmly in the rush of the Black Lion’s energy. He gasps; she pulls, she tugs, and she gives of herself to bring into being this massive, beautiful, formidable destructive creation.

Shiro’s jaw drops open. He stands not in the cockpit but on a purple platform in the middle of a racing sea of quintessence. Energy swirls all around him as he stands safe in that purple circle, rushes past him in streaks of blue, of red, green, and yellow. Yellow brushes past on his left with a swell of solidarity. Green bursts behind his eyelids with strong curiosity; a wave of blue washes over him, focused and fierce and determined. Pink dances above his head and below his feet, delighted and curious and surprised. Through it all a red thread weaves the other four colors together in a braid of quintessence, of battle, of life. Keith learns, Keith pulls, and Keith unites. Shiro stands in the middle of it all on his invisible purple platform, invisible to the side of Keith’s chair as five become one, as colors burst, as stalwart and determined and curious and delighted and _this is for you, Shiro_ all course so viciously through him that he does stagger back, jarred to his core. All of it soars through and around him, so close that Shiro could surely touch them, he could reach them, if only he stretched out his fingers -

 _No,_ the Black Lion snaps. The incredible ribbon of quintessence swirls out of reach.

“Let me,” Shiro should say, or _let me out, let me try, let me -_ but he is so overcome by the river of pure bright energy of one of the universe’s most powerful creations that he is speechless, breathless, and struck dumb with awe.

It’s overwhelming. It is powerful. It is blinding, and Shiro has never felt so a part of something and yet so utterly, terribly alone.

 

 

 

 

When it’s over,

when the battle is won and Voltron disbands,

when the Black Lion parks in her hangar and Keith bends over the controls to catch his breath,

when Keith takes an extra moment to lean his head back against the headrest, peel off his helmet, to breathe in again -

when Shiro can’t reach out to let Keith know _how proud he is of him_ -

when Keith finally leaves and the Black Lion’s cockpit fades and Shiro is back in the astral plane, when not just Keith but Voltron is gone,

when all that fades away the loss sends Shiro crashing to his knees, gasping like a racehorse run past the finish line, straining for control and for air. Air doesn’t matter. Air doesn’t exist, here, and yet his lungs ache and his chest is tight against that invisible band and he cannot get enough air to stand up.

“That’s what it’s like?” he gasps. The hum is back in his head, swimming over the pounding in his ears. The weights at his wrists weigh him down. The band across his chest does not let up. Shiro is exhausted, and he did nothing but watch.

 _Yes,_ the Black Lion purrs. She is confident, tired but content. _It will get easier. Yours did._

“Keith did a good job,” Shiro says. He sits back on his heels and breathes, focusing on gathering in his racing heart, his thoughts, his mind. And yet -

Shiro tilts his head up. The Black Lion stands over him as always, her forepaws braced on either side as she stares over his head into the distance.

“You stopped me,” Shiro says, hoarse.

 _It is too dangerous,_ the Black Lion says. The eclipsed moon hangs on their horizon, unwavering. _You have no body._

“I don’t care about that,” Shiro cries. The stars stretch above the Black Lion’s head, unmoving, endlessly patient, endlessly _waiting._ If Keith won’t come in here, Shiro has to - “Let me try!”

 _No,_ the Black Lion argues, _There is nothing to ground you._

The fragile hope in Shiro’s lungs sputters, dashed.

“You would ground me,” Shiro says. He has to believe this. “You’d keep me safe, I believe in you. Let me try!”

 _Not without a body,_ the Black Lion says. _Paladin, no._ Worry taints the three beloved syllables. Shiro closes his eyes for just a moment. _It is too dangerous._

When Shiro opens his eyes the Black Lion shifts. She lowers her massive jaw and nose down to him, down, down. Shiro raises a hand to her muzzle and stares out at the unmoving stars of the astral plane. His heart beats in his ears over that incessant hum. _Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump._

_Paladin?_

“Find me a body,” Shiro whispers.

 

 

 

Time passes.

 

 

 

 

When the Black Lion finds Shiro a body, it is the wrong one.

“That’s not me,” Shiro pleads, yells, as the Black Lion opens her jaw, as Keith and his team pry the - the vessel with the _Other-Shiro_ out of her jaws. For once her cockpit doesn’t fade when Keith releases the controls, bolting out of the chair like a man spurred to hell. The Black Lion’s presence extends just long enough for Shiro to follow him, this time, though his feet freeze at the top edge of the gangway. It’s miserably not enough. Shiro stands feet away, invisible, as Coran helps, as his entire team extricates Other-Shiro out from the small Galra ship and onto a hover-stretcher. The other-Shiro’s hair is long, his eyes are closed, and everyone hovers around his stretcher like they’ve found - Shiro reels. “Keith! _Keith! That isn’t me!”_

The stretcher moves. Other-Shiro is whisked away behind the double doors of the hangar, Pidge and Hunk hot on Coran’s heels.

 _“Keith!”_ Shiro cries.

Against all odds, Keith pauses.

He turns back, slowly, over his shoulder. His entire body angles towards the Black Lion, up towards the gangway, up towards the Black Lion’s still open jaw. Keith turns back, though his feet do not move, and looks right at them.

Hope surges into Shiro’s throat, viscous.“Keith - ”

Keith smiles, a genuine half-quirk of his lips, true and _relieved._ He presses his hand to the Black Lion’s massive paw. Shiro takes a half-step back, his own hand weighted down by that invisible pull.

Keith’s lips form two words. Shiro’s sinking heart needs no translation.

_Thank you._

Keith pats the Black Lion’s claw, once, and then turns to go.

“No,” Shiro breathes.

The hangar swirls away and Shiro crashes down hard, knees finally cracking the glassy surface of the astral plane as the terrible stars bleed sickeningly back into view. His hands shake, violently. His breathing pounds in his ears, his heart; the band across his chest is too tight, too tight, and the smell - the _smell -_

 _I am sorry,_ the Black Lion says. Her voice is meek, repentant. Concerned. _He was dying._

“That’s not me,” Shiro gasps. He can’t get enough air. The Black Lion lowers her head down to him; for the first time, Shiro can’t even raise his hand back. His wrists are too heavy. His heart is too sunk.

_Paladin?_

They aren’t looking for him. Shiro’s team isn’t looking for him anymore. They think they’ve found him.

They’re not looking for him.

  

_Paladin?_

 

 

 

Time passes, and things only get worse.

Keith still flies, for a while. The first time the - the _other-Shiro_ sets foot in the Black Lion, Shiro recoils so strongly that Black panics too, slamming them back to the astral plane so fast the stars whiplash across his vision. The Black Lion shifts her massive foot to stand above Shiro, who shakes beneath her protective form as she stands between him and the strange double-vision, dimly lit, of the interior of her cockpit, still visible in the distance as if on the other side of a mirror. To his great relief he can’t hear what his doppelgänger is saying either. The twisted rules still apply, and Black stays silent, silent, silent, as the copy of Shiro grips her controls - speaks - as Shiro gags on the taste of sour, curdled milk in the back of his throat. There is nothing to throw up and nothing to be done to fix this.

 _He will not fly me,_ the Black Lion reassures him. Other-Shiro leaves as fast as he’d come; Keith’s rapid return is a blessed relief. His hair beneath his helmet is a bit mussed, like he’d put it on quickly; Shiro’s shoulders relax as Keith lays his hands on Black’s controls, as the cockpit solidifies back into view. Shiro sits down hard on the floor of the cockpit by Keith’s chair, trembling. For the first time he cannot watch.

The battle rages. The faces of his Paladins appear on the side screens and - horribly - so does the face of that strange other-Shiro. His hair is cut shorter than Shiro wears it, his jaw is firmer, his eyebrows drawn down deeper in focus and concern and _does Shiro look like that,_ when he’s single-minded? Behind the other-Shiro he can just catch a glimpse of the bridge - of Coran, popping briefly into screen and then gone, focused on his own task too. The other-Shiro may not be inside Shiro’s Lion, but he’s inside the Castle. He’s giving commands. He’s issuing orders. He’s making decisions, and Shiro can’t hear any of it.

He doesn’t want to.

Keith flies the Black Lion. Shiro sits against the cockpit chair and shakes. The tension radiates off Keith so strongly it’s near palpable even across realms. Keith whips his head towards the screen where other-Shiro is; an argument, maybe. Confusion. Shiro cannot hear him, and the Black Lion is too busy to translate. It is, as it is more often these times, too much.

 _I’m here, Keith,_ Shiro should say, but he’s out of energy and the words won’t come and Keith wouldn’t hear him, here. Whatever separates them just might be impenetrable. _Keith, please._

 

 

 

 

Time passes like water dripping through a slow hole.

 

 

  

 _He has stopped trying to bond with me,_ the Black Lion says, one day. Shiro sits at the side of Keith’s chair at the end of another fight, silent witness to Keith’s bowed head, the tremors in his shoulders. Keith doesn’t speak. The Black Lion doesn’t translate. Shiro does not move.

“Can you reach out to him?” Shiro asks, hoarse. Keith lifts his head, oblivious as always. Steels his shoulders. Keith braces himself, once more.

 _I am trying,_ the Black Lion says, as Keith leaves the cockpit. Leaves them, again. _Paladin, trust me. I am trying._

_Paladin?_

 

 

 

 

One day, other-Shiro again sets foot into the Black Lion’s jaws.

Other-Shiro steps into her cockpit, cautious, hesitant and hasty. Shiro lifts his head from the astral plane, stares through the hazy mirror-like conjuration of the dark cockpit that the Black Lion shows him. Other-Shiro sits down in her chair. Shiro has the perfect view of other-Shiro's bowed head, the grip of black-clad hands upon his Lion’s controls and the shaky, rough inhale that the other-Shiro takes. Shiro exhales with him, in time.

The other-Shiro speaks. Shiro stares dully from the other side of the astral plane, sat between the safety and cage of the Black Lion’s paws. He has the perfect view of the bitter desperation on other-Shiro’s face. The other-Shiro’s lips move; Shiro stares, tired. His heart thuds weakly in his ears.

 _He begs,_ the Black Lion says, quiet as a stone.

Shiro stands, then. With an effort he steps forward, a single step despite the invisible tug at his ankles. The mirror-barrier shimmers, enough, and though the cockpit is dimly lit Shiro is there, too, somehow both in front of this other-Shiro and between the cursed safety of the Black Lion’s astral paws.

“Why is he here?” Shiro asks, hoarse.

 _Lives are at stake,_ the Black Lion translates.

Shiro’s heart clenches, hard. He has to know.

“Whose?” Shiro asks, a torn murmur.

 _Paladin,_ the Black Lion says. Shiro shudders. _Paladins._

Paladins.

But -

Shiro turns, a half-whirl of surprise. On the astral plane the Black Lion is as impassive as ever, but her head is tilted down towards him and her eyes dimly glow.

“My team?”

The Black Lion’s concerned rumble is answer enough. Shiro’s lungs burn.

“Where is Keith?” Shiro asks, desperate. Chokes.

The Black Lion sends back a terrible wave of uncertainty. Keith has not been in her cockpit for some time. Before them this copy of Shiro still has his head bowed, his hands shaking over the handles. Time, almost, has paused.

Shiro reaches out his hand, translucent and invisible in the dim light of the other, the real, realm. His fingers hover above the other-Shiro’s helmet, inches before the other-Shiro’s face. One of them is a statue. One of them is a ghost. One of them is real.

_Paladin?_

 

 

If this is the only way Shiro can help his team -

a team who’s stopped looking,

a team who Shiro’s never left,

a team who needs him, even still.

His _friends -_

 

 

“Okay,” Shiro croaks, and it feels like betrayal.

 

 

 

 

When it’s over,

when the resurrected cockpit fully fades from view as other-Shiro peels off his helmet and sets foot outside his Lion,

when the Black Lion brings him back to the astral plane, Shiro doesn’t crash to the ground. He’s already seated, already shocked, like he never moved. His heart pounds in his ears, always fighting with that terrible pervasive hum. His fingers tingle, numb against the cold surface of the astral plane. For the first time, Shiro is cold.

 _Paladin?_ the Black Lion asks, meek. Her presence nudges at him, worried.

This is it. This is all he has and all he is. One pounding heart and his own labored breathing, a weight at his ankles and wrists and chest, a terrible smell in his nostrils and a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. A team, not looking for him. A team, no longer his. He has nothing. Shiro is alone.

_Paladin?_

Shiro turns away from his Lion and lays down.

 

 

 

_Paladin?_

 

 

 

Keith does not come back.

 

 

Other-Shiro flies, wearing Shiro’s armor and Shiro’s face and Shiro’s voice, presumably. Other-Shiro speaks and the team listens, following his orders on screen, in formation, in unison. Shiro searches the screens for any glimpse of Keith, but it’s Lance who remains in the Red Lion, consistent and true. No one has switched back. Keith alone has switched out.

Keith does not come back. When the Black Lion is awake neither she nor Shiro have a choice. Shiro stands behind the cockpit chair when he can, behind silence, behind hope and behind this - this other him. He is silent witness to battles, to rescues, to things he cannot fathom, and to loss.

Forming Voltron never hurts, exactly, but the wonder and joy Shiro used to find in it is gone. When the other-Shiro makes the call, the Black Lion nudges against Shiro’s presence in the astral plane, straining against the drain and the inevitable. Shiro just nods.

The absence of red from the resulting rush of quintessence - yellow and pink and green and blue - is sickening. Something is missing. Something is wrong. The Black Lion feeds her own energy into the void, tying the ribbon together with purple threaded through with black. Shiro stands on his isolated platform and lets it flow around him. Breathes. He can’t help. He can’t watch. He is only a spectator, a witness, an empty vessel never to be refilled.

Which is why when things shift, Shiro isn’t ready.

 _Paladin,_ the Black Lion cries in warning -

Shiro’s eyes fly open. The rushing void of quintessence that forms Voltron races past him, but for the first time - suddenly he isn’t alone. Four other platforms shimmer statically into existence - green, yellow, pink, and blue, each with a silhouetted, armored figure standing atop it. As their circles join his, the pentagon completes. Each circular platform is immediately encompassed with a cylinder of corresponding energy, rushing upwards from something fueled both by the quantum energy and without.

 _They need you,_ the Black Lion murmurs from all around him, and Shiro doesn’t hesitate. There isn’t time. Before Shiro can even fathom what he’s seeing, the other silhouettes - the other _Paladins -_ begin to wink out, one by one. The last figure left is -

“Lance,” Shiro manages. Calm. He has to stay calm. “Lance, listen to me - ”

Lance’s lips move beneath his helmet, eyes wide and shocked, but then he too is gone. The rushing energy drains forth from Shiro, around him, through him, and everything is purple and fast and _tugging and he cannot -_

 

When that bond breaks Shiro nearly cries, when it’s over and he’s thrust back into the cockpit of his Lion. The light here is the bright orange of Olkarion, not the rushing purple-blue streaks of Voltron. Other-Shiro lifts his head, presses his palm to his visor. If he’s in pain, Shiro cannot tell.

“I had him,” Shiro begs to the Black Lion when other-Shiro leaves, when the cockpit fades, when Voltron is safe, when his team is safe and Shiro’s sitting on the floor of the astral plane safe but trapped, safe but stuck. “I had Lance. He heard me - I know he heard me!”

 _We must wait,_ his Lion urges.

“I’m tired of _waiting!”_ Shiro cries. Wet heat burns behind his eyes; Shiro digs the heels of his hands to his eye sockets, but despite the burn no moisture wets his palms. The smell of peroxide worsens, bitter. That low hum never stops. “I’m stuck in here, my team’s out there, they’re following something they think is me and he could be doing _anything_ to them and _you won’t tell me!”_

His Lion frowns, deep in the air between them. _He leads._

“Why?” Shiro demands, standing up, swirling around to face her. “Why do you let him? Where is Keith?”

_The universe needs Voltron._

Two can play at this game. “Where is Keith?” Shiro counters. “Keith flew you too! Keith was fine!”

_Keith does not want this._

The reminder stings.

“Neither do I, but I’m doing it,” Shiro says. This is what it’s come to; if this is what he has left and who he is than so be it. “I’m here, I’m waiting, I have been _patient_ and _nothing is working!_ I don’t know what else you want me to do, if I can’t reach out and if Keith isn’t coming back. I had Lance. He heard me. You heard me!”

 _You must give him time,_ the Black Lion starts -

“We’re out of time,” Shiro insists. His heart pounds, heavy, tight, trapped, sick. “That other-me could be doing anything to them - ”

 _He has led them safely so far,_ says his Lion.

“But you still won’t let him in here,” Shiro says. His Lion reels, caught; Shiro stands his ground, what little he has struck true. “He isn’t me. He’s not the body we were supposed to find.”

The Black Lion rumbles, displeased. _I cannot reach you. You need a body and I cannot find it._

“Put me _somewhere,”_ Shiro demands, head lifted high. “What good is keeping me alive in here if in here I can’t do any good?”

 _No,_ his Lion says. _You need your body._

“Nobody’s looking for it.” The cold hard truth of that hurts worse than the persistent tug of weights at his ankles, his wrists, worse than the burning in his chest and his heart. “Nobody’s looking for me. We have to do something!”

 _We must wait,_ his Lion says. _Paladin -_

“Wait for what?” Shiro demands. The hum in his ears is louder, growing worse. “Nobody’s coming close enough for you to tell them. Keith’s gone. We’re waiting for nothing.”

 _Paladin,_ his Lion says. The low hum in his ears is louder, broken up - his heart pounds in fast angry rhythm, _th-thump th-thump th-thump -_

“What did you save me from?” Shiro demands -

  


 

When it happens, Shiro isn’t ready.

 

 

 

 _“Shiro?!”_  

Air hisses into his ears, violently loud in the silence that’s been his prison for so long. Shiro staggers, startled. The beating of his heart fades immediately from his ears as the low persistent hum completely disappears. Shiro jerks his head up, staring wildly at the stars of the astral plane.

“What’s happening?” he asks, alarmed. Behind him the Black Lion shifts, but Shiro is too caught up in the new sensations, too caught up in wonder, to really pay attention to her. Something pops; Shiro flinches -

Fresh air rushes past his face, free and sweet as it brushes gently against his cheeks. His bangs flutter, shifting light against his skin. The sensation is overwhelming. In disbelief Shiro lifts his hands up to check, but though his bangs brush softly across his forehead in the wind, here on the astral plane there is no breeze. His hair lies flat and motionless under his fingers.

And yet -

 _Paladin?_ the Black Lion asks, at his back.

“How,” Shiro manages. The astral plane is as still as always, and yet this inexplicable breeze drifts past his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, _Shiro can feel this ghost across his skin._ “How is this - ”

 _“Impossible,”_ says a voice.

A _voice -_

It can’t be and yet it is. The syllables are so clear and so loud after the silence of so long that they echo painfully on Shiro’s ears. Shiro winces, staggering back against the Black Lion’s paw as the voice continues: _“How can this be?”_

 _“No,”_ says yet another voice, choked with horror and unmistakable - _“Shiro?”_

Shiro knows that voice.

_Shiro knows that voice._

“Keith,” Shiro sobs.

Something presses against his cheek: the warm fabric of a rough glove, a palm, fingers curving up towards Shiro’s hair. Shiro whips his head to the right to see - but no one is there except for the stars of the astral plane. He is alone, still, except for that gentle warmth of an unmistakable hand cupping his face, steady and strong and trembling and _there._

“How,” Shiro asks, at the same time that -

 _“I don’t understand,”_ Keith’s voice breathes, as loudly as if he was standing right next to Shiro, shoulder to shoulder. His palm against Shiro’s cheek is trembling, fingers shaking as he brushes through Shiro’s bangs. Shiro closes his eyes, overwhelmed with the simple touch. _“Why wouldn’t they tell me?”_

His voice is raw, so crystal-clear it cuts like dew after a desert rain. Shiro aches.

 _“When did you last speak with the Paladins?”_ grumbles the first voice. The speaker’s voice is well above Shiro’s head off to the right, deeper than Keith’s. It couldn’t be - Kolivan? Shiro turns, opens his eyes to check. The astral plane is still empty but for him and his Lion.

 _Paladin?_ the Black Lion repeats.

 _“Yesterday,”_ Keith says, and his voice is nearly a sob - but that can’t be right. Shiro can count on one hand the number of times Keith has cried in front of him. This isn’t sorrow: this is a hard undercurrent of confused anger, roiling up like water learning to heat. _“I spoke with Lance just yesterday. He - he said he had something to tell me, but I had to go and he didn’t call back…why wouldn’t he_ say?”

 _“If this is the secret weapon that the intelligence spoke of, then the Black Paladin has been here for some time,”_ chimes a third voice. The hand against Shiro’s cheek shudders. _“Leader, take a look at this.”_

Kolivan grunts, confirming - something? _“Download the data. We will analyze it back on our ship.”_

 _“Why wouldn’t they_ say?” Keith repeats, shocked. His hand has never left Shiro’s cheek.

 _“We must go,”_ Kolivan interrupts. Fabric shifts; the breeze moves. _“We will comm the Paladins upon our return to base. Keith?”_

The weight of that warm palm disappears from Shiro’s cheek. _“Help me cut him loose.”_

“Wait,” Shiro starts to say, but the words don’t come. The band of pressure around his chest vanishes abruptly; Shiro gasps, gulping in a breath of unhindered air. Seconds later the weights drop from both his wrists and ankles and he flinches, startled, curling both hands reflexively in towards his heart. Gravity shifts and Shiro staggers, disoriented with vertigo, as his body is lifted and cradled close - someone’s arm beneath his knees, the other arm around his shoulders, Shiro’s entire right side is pressed up against a firm chest and his head guided to rest against a strong shoulder and beneath Shiro’s right ear he can hear - he can hear - the steady beating of a solid, real, earnest heart.

Shiro doesn’t realize he’s crying until the first tear drips off his chin.

 _Paladin,_ says his Lion, soft. The astral plane remains steady and unmoving, stars unwavering despite the sensations that rock through him. There’s nothing here except stars, yet his shoulders _are_ pressed firm against that warm chest as someone carries him, cradles his head. Their warmth keeps him steady despite the rocking motion of being carried, of being moved, of being rescued. Their warmth is real, steady at his back, warming his heart. Their warmth is a promise.

“They found me,” Shiro breathes.

 

 

Time passes. With no way to see what’s happening or where he’s being taken, the vertigo is nearly impossible to manage. Shiro sinks to his knees inside the cradle of the Black Lion’s paws, presses his forehead to her metal - and isn’t that a dichotomy, too, as his skin rests not against cold metal, but against the warm armor of someone’s suit? - and breathes. With his eyes closed it’s a little easier. Voices blur over his head, orders and shouting and footsteps, running. Shiro cannot keep track. By the time the motion finally stops Shiro’s nearly sick with nausea, dizzy with the return of feeling, frighteningly lightheaded despite that the peroxide smell in his nostrils has finally been replaced by the recycled, blessed air of someone else’s ship.

 _“Careful,”_ says a voice. The motions finally stop as someone lays Shiro down against a flat surface - soft, cushions giving beneath the weight of his shoulders. Someone guides his head to rest on another soft surface, careful fingers pulling free from the back of his head as Shiro is gently, so gently, laid down. Those same fingers disappear but Shiro isn’t left alone; the flatness of the surface by his hip dips, slightly, as someone sits down next to him. Voices murmur over his head, low and busy. Fingers wrap around his; a warm hand grips his left.

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs back. He opens his eyes. The metal of the Black Lion’s claw meets him, silhouetted by purple stars. Wherever his body is, it doesn’t work.

The hand holding his squeezes, clinging.

 _“What happened to you?”_ Keith whispers. His voice is so raw.

 _Paladin?_ asks the Black Lion.

“They found my body,” Shiro says, looking up. The Black Lion stands over his form, buildings and cliffs and mountains higher than he is, than Shiro ever could be. On another plane Keith holds his hand tight. “I’m with Keith. I’m safe. Put me back.”

He doesn’t have to wait, this time. Nothing happens.

 _It is not that easy,_ his Lion says.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks, hoarse. “They have my body. I’m safe. Let me go.”

 _They have you,_ the Black Lion explains. A distant hint of regret fills the stars, lingers at their feet. _And I have you. But I cannot reach that far._

Hope falters in Shiro’s chest like a baby bird dropping in first flight. On another plane trembling fingers brush Shiro’s hair back from his forehead; Shiro closes his eyes again, shuddering. If he keeps them closed it’s almost like he could be there. Almost like this split between body and soul never happened.

Keith’s voice reaches him from afar, right next to his ear. _“Shiro, wake up. You’re safe. Wake up, please.”_

“Keith, I’m here,” Shiro murmurs. He clings to Keith’s voice with all he has. “I’m here.”

 _“Wake up,”_ Keith begs, and his hand trembles, and Shiro has to keep his eyes closed against the dying ache in his still-trapped heart.

 _“Here,”_ says someone on that other plane. The weight by Shiro’s hip shifts. Something carefully grips his chin, something presses against his eyes and peels his eyelid up -

\- and suddenly Shiro _can see_. A Galra woman leans over him, clad in the familiar suit of the Blade of Marmora. Two marks of darker fur curve in deeper purple towards her deep frown. The sight vanishes and then reappears as she carefully closes his left eye and opens his right. Shiro stares at her, gaping.

 _“No visual stimulus,”_ she says, and lets Shiro’s eyes fall shut. On the astral plane Shiro opens them, just to check, but there are only stars.

 _“But that can’t be,”_ Keith argues by his head, _“He’s in there. He has to be.”_

 _“There was brain activity on those monitors,”_ the woman’s voice confirms. Shiro frowns, too. _“Whatever they had him hooked up to, they were keeping him alive for a reason. Where is that data?”_

 _“A cryopod,”_ Keith says, suddenly, the shock of realization echoing in his words. _“He needs a healing pod right away. Do you have one?”_

 _“Ours are not calibrated for humans - ”_ Kolivan starts.

 _“Voltron’s is,”_ Keith says. His hand is firm inside Shiro’s, unflinching. With a clearcut purpose laid in front of him Keith has never stumbled. _“Call Voltron. We have to get him there.”_

 _“Come, then,”_ says Kolivan. The weight on the bed shifts.

“No,” Shiro starts, grasping desperately at nothing. There’s nothing to catch, nothing to hold on to, his fingers on that other plane don’t obey him and do not move. “Keith, don’t leave me - ”

The grip on his hand tightens as Keith adds his other hand, cupping Shiro’s left hand tightly in both of his.

 _“I’m coming back, Shiro,”_ Keith says. His steeled voice is low, soft and yet urgent. _“I’m going to go call our friends and find out - I’m going to call them. I’m coming right back. You just - you just rest up, okay?”_

 _“I will stay with him, Keith,”_ that female voice offers. If Keith confirms the offer, it’s wordless; Shiro can’t see. _“He won’t be alone.”_

The hands holding Shiro’s squeeze, once.

 _“I’ll always come back for you,”_ Keith promises, and then the pressure on Shiro’s hand disappears and Keith is gone.

The world spins, again. Shiro exhales, carefully, and opens his eyes. The difference between what he sees here and what the rest of his senses tell him is slowly reconciling. His head is pillowed on a soft surface. He breathes cool, clean air. Something beeps in the distance, calm; someone is humming, soft and easy. The field of stars stretches above and beyond him, broken only by the eclipsed sun-moon-star and Shiro and Shiro’s lion.

“A pod,” Shiro repeats. The stars, and she, are steady. “Would that work? Could a pod heal this?”

 _If they bring you to me,_ the Black Lion says.

 

 

Time passes, and Shiro waits.

Things trickle in through his senses, sorting out. The hum in his ears is a tune, now, as whoever volunteered to stay with him goes about their careful tasks. The weight across his chest isn’t a tight band but more like an embrace, almost, as his caretaker wraps Shiro in something soft and warm, tucking in the material around his hips and knees so that the lingering chill of minutes-weeks-hours-days finally starts to ebb.  His feet are warm, his wrists are free; a quiet beeping keeps time with the calming rhythm of his heart. His caretaker presses a cup to his lips and helps him drink. The cool water down the back of his throat is heaven, chasing away the taste of sandpaper and burned iron. Shiro rests on the soft cushioned surface of this real plane; Shiro stares at the sky of the astral plane and listens. Shiro sits on the astral plane and breathes.

Time passes, and for once isn’t long. The commotion above his real body picks back up again, loud and chaotic. On the astral plane Shiro flinches; the Black Lion shifts, tail swishing.

 _“Keith,”_ the female voice says. The pressure dipping the bed by Shiro’s hip vanishes as his caretaker stands up, leaving him. _“Keith, wait - ”_

 _“I don’t understand,”_ Keith interrupts. He’s back. Shiro relaxes but only just. Keith’s voice is shaking, barely controlled with - anger? Shock?

 _“Keith,”_ Shiro’s caretaker urges. _“Sit down. Tell me what happened, what did they say?”_

 _“Listen to Krolia, if you won’t listen to me,”_ says Kolivan’s voice. He must have followed Keith in. _“Sit.”_

Whatever surface Shiro’s lying on sags; it must be Keith, sitting down hard like his knees have given out. Shiro waits, but this time Keith doesn’t reach for his hand.

The female voice speaks again - Krolia, whoever that is. _“Keith, what happened?”_

A pause. Without any physical contact it’s harder for Shiro to track what’s going on. He sits up straighter on the astral plane, frowning.

It takes time, but finally the answer comes.

 _“Shiro’s still there,”_ Keith says. The blanket covering Shiro twitches as Keith clenches the fabric reflexively, fingers digging. Shiro forgets how to breathe. _“Shiro wasn’t captured by the Galra. He was there when Allura answered the call, standing right behind her.”_

Someone in the room gasps, a sharp intake of air.

 _Breathe, Paladin,_ the Black Lion urges, nudging him.

 _“But this is Shiro,”_ Krolia says, frowning. _“The genetic data confirmed it. How could there be two of him? Does he have a twin?”_

 _“He doesn’t,”_ Keith answers, tight.

 _“Haggar’s experiments run deep and wicked,”_ Kolivan says, overtop. Shiro can picture him standing at the edge of the conversation, arms folded, face stern. _“Ulaz spoke of many an experiment she was seeking to perfect. The cloning technique must have been one of them.”_

 _“A clone,”_ Krolia repeats, quietly. The words ricochet across the planes like a shot.

 _Paladin,_ the Black Lion says, above. _You must breathe._

Shiro obliges, somehow. His mouth is dry; his hands tremble.

“The wrong body,” he whispers.

 _“However the other Shiro came to be, the fact remains that there is now a duplicate Black Paladin existing in this universe,”_ Kolivan continues. _“It is an unthinkable breach of identity, and a problem.”_

 _“What if this one isn’t real?”_ Keith asks. His voice shakes, wounded. Shiro cannot move.

 _“Think,”_ Krolia urges. The bed by Shiro’s feet dips, too. _“All the security we fought through to find this Shiro. How long it took us even to uncover a hint of him, this ‘secret weapon’, let alone where he was. Haggar would not go to such lengths to hide him if this Shiro was unimportant. Trust your instincts. What do they tell you?”_

A scoff from above.

 _“Shut it, Kolivan,”_ Krolia says. The bed shifts again, the mattress dipping by Shiro’s knee as Krolia moves closer to Keith. _“Keith, you know Shiro better than any of us. Did you notice anything about the other Shiro’s behavior, when you were with him not long ago? Anything that would point to deception, or falsehood?”_

Keith’s silence goes on for far too long. Shiro cannot _breathe._

 _“I won’t speak ill of Shiro,”_ Keith says, at last. _“But this would….explain some things.”_

Shiro’s heart leaps into his throat again. For a moment he doesn’t see stars, but pure hot white rage -

 _Paladin,_ the Black Lion snaps, sharp. Shiro can’t. If his doppelgänger _hurt Keith -_

The steady beeping in his ears quickens, loud and incessant.

 _“What’s that?”_ Keith demands.

 _“His heart rate has increased,”_ Krolia says. Keith’s intake of breath is audible, a hiss of surprise. Shiro gapes too, anger bleeding away into shock. _“Can he hear us?”_

 _“Shiro,”_ Keith says. The bed shifts. _“Shiro, open your eyes. Shiro, please, it’s Keith. Open your eyes.”_

Shiro tries, he really does. He closes his eyes on the astral plane, hoping, praying. If he opens them, maybe he’ll see that room again - the room where his body is, the room where the female Galra checked his pupils. Keith is there. Shiro just has to open his eyes.

It doesn’t work. Only the stars greet him, as always.

A warm hand slips into his. Shiro shivers, touch-starved, clinging with every inch of his soul.

 _“Squeeze my hand,”_ Keith begs. _“Shiro, please. C’mon.”_

Shiro urges his hand to do so, or his fingers to bend, or his thumb to at least _move._ Nothing happens.

 _“Nevertheless,”_ Kolivan says. Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand again, coaxing; Shiro’s _trying -_ _“We only have a quintant before our rendezvous with Voltron. Come, Keith. We must plan what to say.”_

 _“A quintant?”_ Krolia interrupts. _“Why did you schedule anything at all?”_

 _“Whether or not he is the real Shiro, this Shiro still requires healing that our cryopods are not programmed to handle,”_ Kolivan says, flatly. _“It will be faster to bring him to Voltron’s ship. I told the Paladins that there is information to convey that must be delivered in person, but we must decide our plan before they reach us. As far as they are aware, and as far as their Shiro is aware, he is the only one.”_

Keith says something else and the conversation continues; Shiro’s still reeling from the shock. Only one quintant - only one day left. One quintant left before Keith walks into this situation with Shiro’s doppelgänger, armed only with anger and questions, straight into a blind situation with someone who might think he’s Shiro but very clearly isn’t. This theft of identity, this theft of purpose and of place - possibilities trip over themselves in Shiro’s head. Maybe this other-Shiro knows he’s a double. Maybe he drove Keith away. Maybe this is a trap and Shiro is just sitting here, helpless to stop it or do anything or _move._

“We have to do something,” Shiro says. On the real plane someone tucks the blanket back in around him, their movements gentle; Shiro shivers again, the full-body motion ricocheting only on the astral plane. The Black Lion stands tall over him, blocking the stars and the sky. Shiro’s tired. He’s awake. He’s alone and not. “We have to help him!”

 _Paladin,_ says the Black Lion. Shiro turns away from her, back out towards the stars. His heart pounds in his ears, incessant proof he is alive and here and helpless. The beeping remains steady, though his hands here shake.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, in despair. Time is an illusion, crafted to keep desperate beings at bay.

 _We must wait,_ their Lion says.

  


 

Time passes, and Shiro has no way to measure this.

 

 

 

All of a sudden the Black Lion jolts. Shiro’s used to that, used to the astral plane blinking out without warning as someone wakes her, as the world around him blurs to purples and controls and reality. This time is no exception. The astral plane fades out of existence and Shiro’s back in the cockpit once more. There must be a mission again. Shiro steels himself, takes a deep breath. The other-Shiro will be there, sitting in his chair. He turns, numb, to the inevitable.

There is a figure seated in the Black Lion’s chair, but they aren’t wearing Black Paladin armor. They aren’t clad in Paladin armor at all.

Relief slams into Shiro, so hard his knees nearly buckle.

_“Keith!”_

In his Blade of Marmora uniform Keith’s face is exposed, hood down and retracted as he confidently wheels the Black Lion out of her hangar. His face is set in determined lines, unwavering. After so long, the familiarity of him is at once a comfort and a bitter homesickness.

“Keith - ”

Shiro steps forward, aligning himself with the cockpit chair. Keith stares through him, jaw set as he pilots the Black Lion on their chosen course. A vidscreen flickers to life in Shiro’s peripheral; before he can even turn towards it Keith’s reached over and thumbed it off. He never takes his eyes off of the main viewpane. He never stops. The Black Lion flies and Keith pilots her, pilots them, steady and away.

“What’s happening?” Shiro asks, aloud.

 _Keith is stealing me,_ the Black Lion reports, smug.

 

 

When Keith lands the Black Lion, he does so gingerly, setting her down and powering off with the ease of returning to an old friend. Shiro lingers in front of the pilot’s chair as Keith bends over the controls for a moment, and for a moment - just a moment - it’s like nothing has changed. Keith leans over the handlebars, head bowed, and exhales, taking his time. Shiro waits, hands hovering, too close and too far. Except for Keith’s Blade uniform, out of place in the Black Lion’s cockpit, perhaps time has stood completely still.

Then Keith raises his head and for a moment - one critical impossible moment - their eyes meet.

Shiro’s widen, shocked. In a bed on another plane his heart rate spikes - the beeping picks up, startled too. In a cockpit between worlds, he and Keith stare at one another, Shiro’s jaw agape, Keith’s set and firm like stone. Shiro doesn’t dare speak. Is Keith - does he -

Then Keith’s gaze slides off to the right, over his shoulder. He visibly steels himself, rising for the door. He pauses at the entrance to the ramp. His shoulders lower; an exhale. They tense; an inhale.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. “Keith, I’m here.”

Keith doesn’t turn back. The ramp lowers; he descends; he is gone. The Black Lion slips into her stasis one more time, the standard stars of Shiro’s prison and fragile hopes winking back above their single reach.

 

Shiro closes his eyes.

 

 

Time passes, and this wait is the worst of all.

 

 

When Shiro wakes up, he wakes to a quiet beeping, steady and real. The air is cold and clean in his nostrils and against his skin, a refreshing chill. Every movement pings new sensations rapid-fire up to his brain, like the smooth caress of the sheets against his twitching fingers, the ache in his knees, the stale taste of his teeth and the saliva in his mouth. Everything hurts. There’s a dull ache in his chest and a weariness in his muscles that only grows stronger the closer to consciousness Shiro swims. For the first time in a long time, the space behind his still-closed eyelids is completely dark.

“Shiro?”

\- _it’s him._

Shiro’s eyes fly open.

Keith leans above him, brow creased in worry and his eyes desperately failing to conceal a naked hope. His hair is longer, the worst of the bottom braided into a rattail hanging over his shoulder. Behind him is the same Galra Shiro saw earlier, with the markings across her cheeks. Kolivan stands to her right. All of them look down at him, but Shiro only has eyes - _working eyes -_ for one of them.

“Keith,” Shiro croaks, and Keith’s face crumples in a sob and he flings his arms around Shiro in a tight, desperate hug.

Shiro grunts with the impact, knocked back against - pillows, he’s leaning up against a stack of pillows carefully arranged for support. He wraps both arms - real and Galra, both real, both here - around Keith too, relishing everything. It’s so much. It’s a glorious revelation to finally match sensation to vision, touch to sight, all his senses aligned and in tune and exhausted but here, real, _awake._ Keith is a solid weight in Shiro’s arms, warm and heavy where they press close to one another. After so long with nothing but stars and cold it’s just this side of too much. A sob chokes from him; a tear runs down his cheek, and even that single trail of _wet_ is enough that Shiro shudders, overwhelmed. Keith tightens his grip, murmuring soft reassurances. Keith clings to him like a drowning man and Shiro clings back with all the strength he has. It isn’t much. He’s weak, he’s exhausted, but absolutely nothing on either plane could keep him from this.

Absolutely nothing.

“You found me,” he rasps, when Keith finally pulls away. Tear tracks stain Keith’s face too; he wipes at them with the back of his hand but otherwise doesn’t bother, smiling down at Shiro anyway. “How? What happened?”

“I stole you,” Keith explains. He shifts back on the bed, but only slightly. Keith keeps a firm hold on Shiro’s arm and Shiro keeps his hand on Keith, too, unwilling to let go. “The Galra had you locked away on a small research base. We only found you a few days ago.”

A band, tight across his chest. Weights heavy at wrists and ankles. The bitter smell, the terrible hum -

“I know,” Shiro rasps. It hurts to talk. Keith frowns, leaning away; Shiro’s heart seizes in panic but Keith only grabs a water packet from a shelf hovering at the side of the bed.

“Here,” Keith says, inserting the straw and holding the packet to Shiro’s lips. “Take it slow.”

The cool water is a blessing against his sore throat. Shiro takes a few grateful swallows before leaning back against the pillows. Keith sets the packet down on the shelf.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Kolivan says. Shiro’s gaze flickers to him. Despite the greeting Kolivan offers no smile. “Krolia told us this plan of Keith’s would work.”

“I did,” the Galra woman - Krolia - agrees. “Shiro, how are you feeling?”

How is he feeling - or _what_ is he feeling? Shiro doesn’t have the words for even part of it. The clean smell of the room, fresh and secure. The comforting pressure of Keith’s hip at Shiro’s knee, tucked on the other side of old but soft blankets. The beauty of everyone’s voices, quiet and loud and surprised and gentle: voices that Shiro can actually, finally, hear. Conversations he can be a part of because he is here, too.

There is no way to describe how good this is.

“Plan?” Shiro croaks instead, frowning.

A deep purr interrupts his confused thoughts, warm and pleased.

 _I told you,_ his Lion says.

“The Black Lion,” Shiro gasps. Keith squeezes his arm. “You found me. You brought me back to her. How - how did you know?”

“Lance called me.” Keith’s eyes darken; Shiro can’t place why. He squeezes back, still awed that he can. “And then again last night. Said he had this vision of you he couldn’t get out of his head.”

_Lance’s eyes meeting his, wide and open -_

The pieces slot together. Shiro sags back against the pillows, shocked. “He heard me.”

Keith’s head snaps up. “Heard you?”

“In Voltron,” Shiro explains. It’s hard to sift through, his memories of time blurred and rushed. He swallows; Keith waits, patient.“On Olkarion. There was - a virus?”

Keith stiffens. If Shiro didn’t know him so well the motion would have been imperceptible. Behind him Kolivan and the Krolia straighten, too.

“Tell me about it,” Keith says.

Shiro shrugs, the movement limited. “There isn’t much to tell. I was - it’s hard to explain, but I was standing in the middle of all this - quintessence, I think, standing right on this purple circle. It happened every time we - they - the Black Lion formed Voltron. Usually I was alone, except for that once. I don’t know what was different, but for some reason I - I saw them. Lance, Hunk, Pidge - and Allura?”

“She’s a Paladin now,” Keith explains, quiet. “She flies the Blue Lion while Lance is in Red.”

“Right.” Speaking is exhausting. Shiro leans his head back against the pillows, gathering strength. “I saw all of them, but only briefly, like they were waiting for me. They all winked out as soon as I got there, except for Lance. He - he looked right at me.”

“And then what happened?” Kolivan asks, a calm interjection. “What did you say to him?”

Keith’s hand tightens on his arm.

“I told him to listen to me,” Shiro says, hoarse.

The reaction is immediate. Keith’s entire body relaxes; Krolia breathes a sigh of relief. Even Kolivan cracks what might almost be considered a smile.

“It’s him,” Keith says. A true relieved smile breaks across his face. “It really is you - ”

Shiro summons all his strength and leans forward; Keith sinks into the hug gratefully, clinging back. Shiro closes his eyes and revels in the relief, in Keith’s fingers gripping the soft fabric of Shiro’s shirt, in the cool air of the room and the quietness of this space, these answers, their time.

“Lance said that he talked to the other-you,” Keith says, as he pulls away. “The other-Shiro didn’t have any memory of what happened on Olkarion.”

“Because he wasn’t there.” The Black Lion purrs in the back of Shiro’s mind again, a fiercely possessive rumble. Shiro smiles at Keith, though that’s an effort too. “Black wouldn’t let him in.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “But she let him fly - ”

“Fly, yes.” Sitting up on his own is an effort; Shiro’s muscles shake with it and Keith helps him lie back against the pillows. “But not - _in._ Not that far. Not where…”

Not to the astral plane, painted with steady stars. Not under that eclipse and endless horizon, glass-like and dark. Not where the Black Lion had kept him, secret and trapped and safe, until his body could be found and his soul reunited and everything - everything -

“Hey.” A warm hand grips his again; Shiro startles before the panic can really set in, clinging to Keith’s hand. Keith’s gaze is concerned but supportive, steadily faithful where he meets Shiro’s eyes. “We’re going to figure this out, I promise. Just rest for a second.”

“We do not have much time,” Kolivan interrupts. Shiro looks up; Keith shifts on the bed, defensive. “The Red Lion and the Castle ship have just appeared at the edge of our solar shields. We are being hailed.”

“Ignore them,” Krolia says. She crosses her arms over her chest, unyielding. “We need more time.”

“We still have cover from the solar flares here,” Kolivan says, “The passageway in will not open for another two vargas. The Red Lion tried to follow you - ”

“I’m aware,” Keith says, tight. “Lance said he would.”

“So we have time, but not much,” Krolia says. “Keith, you’ve got your Shiro back. We have two vargas to come up with a plan before Voltron knocks down our door.”

“Two hours,” Keith murmurs, under his breath. “That’s not enough time.”

Fortunately, time is the one thing Shiro has had.

“Yes, it is,” Shiro says.

“What are you doing?!” Keith lurches to support him, helping Shiro sit fully up. “Lay back down. You’re still weak - ”

Shiro shakes his head, staying upright. Every minute he spends awake is another minute his strength can come back to him. He can do this. He’s waited long enough. “Let them come. I’ve got an idea.”

"Shiro - "

“No,” Shiro says. Anger flares in his chest, united and whole. Keith lets Shiro lean against him, supporting now and always. Shiro breathes in, measured and slow. The Black Lion hums in the back of his mind, steady and sure. It’s a welcome back; a question. A battle, impending. A storm, brewing and almost home.

 _Paladin,_ his Lion says.

They can do this. There is, for once, just enough time.

“They can come,” Shiro says. “I want to meet this person pretending to be me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this piece, please feel free to leave me a comment! You can also visit me on my [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com), where I'm slowly clawing out of grad school for the summer. Happy season six!!


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